Cappuccino Thoughts 72: On....Are New Yorkers Okay?

My day at the BATHHOUSE in Flatiron

New Town Fox, Edinburgh, Scotland

It was a Sunday afternoon at BATHHOUSE in Flatiron. The letters themselves practically screamed at me.

When the guy with the long beard and scraggly hair had first started yelling in the main pool room to follow him into the sauna for an “aufguss,” I thought everyone would politely ignore him, like a guy yelling on the subway. I should have known New Yorkers would be in for any vaguely Scandinavian sounding ritual that promised to heal….whatever vaguely defined maladies plagued us that day.

I was there because the day prior I had completed the annual Great Saunter, walking 34 miles around the perimeter of Manhattan with my bestie. Last year, J. and I did it in 14 hours, a couple hours over the suggested timeframe. This year, we crushed it in a whopping 11 hours, shocking ourselves. But my hips were screaming at me for taking so few breaks during the walk.

I knew my reason for coming. But why was half of Manhattan there on a Sunday afternoon? Was everyone just hungover? Couples, big groups of friends, small groups of girls reassuring each other it “was better to just focus on being a hot girl than worry about that guy” (direct quote). The vibe felt more like a night club than the traditional banya of the Russian and Turkish Baths. The lights were dimmed way down low, thumping music emanated from the walls, the entire staff was made up of attractive 20- and 30-somethings, there were well-lit mirrors for bikini mirror selfies (I did not partake), and the whole thing had a vague undercurrent that threatened to transform the whole place into a rave at any moment.

I followed the conga line of people to the sauna. Oh, this is even worse than I imagined, I thought to myself. Why do people pay money for this? Why am I paying money for this? Why were we all so willing to follow the half-naked man into the overheated, dark room with vague promises of health and self-care? It seems we would take any cheap trick to feel even just a little bit better.

I couldn’t help but wonder….are New Yorkers okay?

“It’s going to get a little hot in here,” the half-naked man said.

One woman immediately stood up and ran toward the door. “I can’t do it,” she said, apologizing to the room.

“That’s fine. She didn’t have the courage to stay. And that’s okay. If you need to leave, leave. Just make sure the door clicks on your way out. But for the rest of you. I have prepared some sick beats from Sri Lanka. We will breathe along for two songs. Hear the music. Feel the music,” he said, the presence of his thick French accent making me wonder where his knowledge of sick Sri Lankan beats came from.

“I am Jacques, your sauna master.” He was wearing a pair of swim trunks and a towel wrapped around his head. His tattoos spoke of at least several years spent “finding himself” in far flung countries. “Breathe in.”

“HMMMMMMM.” The sound of forty sweaty New Yorkers inhaling.

“Breathe out.”

“HAAAAAAAA,” the room exhaled. “This is basil and cardamom. It’s so good for you. It boosts your immunity. Inhale it deeply into your chest. Do it. Do it for yourself. Do it to dig deep into yourself. Do it to become one with everyone here.” The man threw a snowball filled with essential oils onto the hot stones in the middle of the sauna room. Quickly, the room started smelling like a Thai restaurant, a not altogether unpleasant sensation. The cardamom, mixed with the intense heat, pricked at the corners of my eyes. Another woman stood up, and shot eyes filled with daggers at the man with her. They exited the room as well. Click.

The BATHHOUSE Instagram is a serious trip.

“Now, it’s time for a little show.” The sauna master whipped the towel off his head and started swinging it around like a rally towel. With each swing, a wave of heavy heat emanated toward those of us in the stands– that is, the cedar plank rows of the sauna.

The crowd was giving him nothing, too focused on not passing out as the “sick Sri Lankan beats” went on interminably and the heat increased.

“How about….THIS!” he declared, like a magician in Vegas. Jacques the Sauna Master swirled the towel around his body as he slowly sank into a full split.

“Whooo,” the crowd cheered wearily.

“Now, everyone reach out and hold the hand of your neighbor.” The thirty-six remaining New Yorkers sized each other up and, seemingly as one collective unit, decided we were all too sweaty to follow the sauna master’s command.

Finally, the second song ended and we exited the Gates of Hell.

In a daze, I made my way back to the locker room. When I finally left the bath house, I was spit back onto the noisy, chaotic streets of the city. I blinked my eyes a few times as they readjusted to the light and I remembered it was, in fact, only 6pm, and not 4am, as it had felt inside. I looked back at the unassuming entrance. 

I seriously worry about the state of this city’s population if that’s how we all just spent a Sunday afternoon, I thought to myself.

But I had to admit I did feel a bit better. 

Updates on the bag brand

The Coco bag! Designed by me. Made in Turkey. $250. There’s a beautiful vintage black and pink floral fabric for a pop of fun on the inside. You can find it here. 

Look of the week

This look (really, looks) come from the “Fashioning San Francisco” exhibit at the de Young Museum in SF, where I made a quick trip last week. The ‘Junon’ and ‘Venus’ dresses were made by Christian Dior in 1949. The Dior gowns were not intended for sale but rather for in-store presentations by I. Magnin, the luxury retailer in mid-century San Francisco. The ‘Junon’ (on the right) is meant to evoke a peacock and the ‘Venus’ evokes clamshells for me. So stunning.

What’s on the bedside table

I read Of Boys and Men for work, as part of an investigation into the decline in attendance at four-year colleges. When I chose this topic to research, I wasn’t aware that I had picked a topic that deals almost entirely with the issues men face in society today. It may not be a popular argument today that we need to pay more attention to men, but Reeves outlines the urgent need to do just this. Women are outpacing men today at every level of education, earning the majority of college and advanced degrees. (Reeves does acknowledge that women’s advantages come to a grinding halt, however, when they have children, a moment Reeves describes as having a “minimal effect on men’s careers, but for a woman’s, “it’s like being hit with a meteorite”). A large swath of mostly white, lower-income men are becoming increasingly disaffected and detached from society, which has ramifications for everyone. His suggested solutions are something to consider—starting boys in school a year later, investing in vocational programs, and pushing more men toward jobs in “HEAL” fields (health, education, administration, and literacy), especially nursing and teaching, the same way advocates have helped open the door to women in STEM jobs. It’s a quick read by a smart Brookings Institution researcher and I learned a lot. Five stars.

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This week I will be….dressing for success.

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Catch up on recent issues: 

🌆On the East Village [Neighborhood Guide]

🧑On Facing Fears

☕On How the Coffee Gets Made